


The Red Bayard

by VelkynKarma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Sword Training, set at the end of S5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 17:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelkynKarma/pseuds/VelkynKarma
Summary: Lance needs some advice on mastering the red bayard, both in form and in spirit. Fortunately, its prior wielder has more than enough advice to go around.





	The Red Bayard

**Author's Note:**

> For PlatonicVLDWeek, Spring Edition! For the day 3 prompt, "Color." 
> 
> I actually wrote this one up like 3 days after S5 dropped and I've been anxiously sitting on it ever since. I'm glad I finally get to share it :)

“Hey, Keith? You got a sec?”  
  
Keith stops in mid-stride, and looks over his shoulder in surprise. “Lance? What’s up?”  
  
Lance had cut it close. Keith was already on his way to the bays for his ship, to head back to the Blade of Marmora base. He’d only stopped by the Castle for a short amount of time, in order to deliver some information and an odd sample of quintessence for Voltron to review. He’d barely even stuck around long enough to chat with Shiro, or catch up with the others. Lance had been afraid Keith would already be gone before he managed to track him down.  
  
Lance catches up with him quickly. “Hey. You’re in a rush. We barely saw you today—I didn’t even know you were here until Hunk mentioned it.”   
  
Keith shrugs. “I’m supposed to be reporting back. We’re on a tight schedule. Did you need something?”  
  
“Sort of,” Lance admits. He bites his tongue, hesitating. “I was actually kind of wondering if you could do me a favor.”  
  
Keith frowns, just slightly. “Me? Why me?”  
  
“It’s kind of right up your alley,” Lance admits. “I know you’re not the leader anymore, so maybe it’s weird that I’m asking you for help, I mean…I know that surprised you even before. But you’re kind of the expert, so—“  
  
“Lance,” Keith cuts him off. “What are you asking for help with?”  
  
“Uh. Training.”  
  
Keith blinks at him. “Training?” he repeats.   
  
“Yeah,” Lance says. “Training. I don’t know if anyone told you, but my bayard kind of…changed.”  
  
Keith looks puzzled by this, which is enough to tell Lance that no, nobody had told him. “Like a new firearm configuration?” he asks, after a moment. “Did you get a third gun or something?”  
  
“No. No, it’s…oh, let me just show you.” He summons his bayard from the thigh holster of his armor—the same red bayard Keith had given him months ago, when they’d first changed Lions. De-materialized it looks the same as always, but when Lance concentrates on forming his weapon, it doesn’t shift to the rifles he’s so used to. Instead, it forms the long Altean broadsword that he’d first created during personal training.   
  
The weight of it in his hand feels awkward, heavy and off-balance compared to his rifle. Even now it’s something he’s still not used to—which is the entire point of asking Keith for help. He’d tried using it in training sessions and against the Gladiator, and while Lance _knows_ this bayard form is powerful, he can’t get his head around how to access that strength that it grants. The Gladiator trounces him every time, easily. And he feels like an idiot, swinging it around and hoping he hits things. He doesn’t feel confident like he does when it’s a rifle. He doesn’t know what to _do_ with this thing.   
  
Keith’s eyes widen at the sight of the weapon. “Woah,” he says after a moment. “Nice.” But although his words are noncommittal, Lance can see he’s actually fairly impressed with the bayard form.   
  
Despite his insecurities with the new weapon, Lance feels a small touch of pride at that. Keith does not impress easy. “It’s pretty cool,” he agrees, holding it up very carefully, so he doesn’t accidentally whack either of them. “It looks like it gave me the ability to summon the Blazing Sword for Voltron, too, because I was able to call it at that kral-whatever thing.”  
  
“Kral Zera,” Keith corrects absently.   
  
“Yeah, that,” Lance says. “I honestly still don’t know how I changed this, or why. If I really, _really_ concentrate, I can make it go back to a gun, but it’s like it just defaults to this, now.”  
  
“Okay,” Keith says. “So what does that have to do with me?”  
  
Lance feels his pride deflating at that question. “Um,” he says. It’s hard to admit he _can’t_ do something to Keith, even now. Ever since the garrison he’s always struggled to prove he can be better than Keith, can do everything Keith can do just as well if not _better._   
  
He’s been getting better at abandoning that rivalry, especially after Keith’s short stint as leader. He’d seen just how vulnerable Keith _could_ be then, how Keith struggled with things just as much as Lance, even if they were different things. But it’s still not easy, to admit he’s a total newbie when it comes to something Keith does as naturally as breathing.   
  
Still, he’s already started it, and there’s no turning back now. Asking Keith for help was the _point_ of all this. He’s got to know at some point why he’s being asked for help. “I, uh…don’t really know how to use a sword,” he admits finally, sheepish.   
  
Keith only blinks at him, once.  
  
“It’s not something that ever came up back home,” Lance defends himself hastily. “I mean, guns, sure. I played paintball and learned how to shoot at a range and all of it applies to Altean laser guns just as much as Earth weapons. Swords? When does anyone use swords anymore? Who knew I was going to go into space and get a magical Altean sword! How could I plan for that?”  
  
Keith merely crosses his arms in response to that.  
  
“I’ve been trying to learn,” Lance adds. “Allura’s been showing me some stuff. She said this is an Altean broadsword and her dad used to use one like it. But she’s been super busy with all her alchemy stuff, and that’s really important to her, and I don’t want to bother her. Lotor knows how to use swords too, but…ugh.” Lance makes a face. Even though Lotor’s on their side, and he’s been okay enough, Lance supposes, Lance has never really come to _like_ the guy. “No way am I asking him for help. I don’t know who else I can ask. But you’ve always been good with swords, so I thought maybe you could, y’know…show me a few pointers?”  
  
There, he’d said it. He’d asked Keith for help. At least he’d tried.  
  
Keith hesitates for a moment, and glances back towards the pod bay. Then he shakes his head. “I guess I’m not technically needed back for a few more vargas,” he says, after a moment. “I’d have been training anyway. Teaching you how to _not_ stab yourself with your own sword is probably a better use of that time.”   
  
“Hey! I’m not _that_ bad,” Lance says, scowling. “I haven’t hit myself with it.” _Yet_. He’d come close to slicing his toes a few times, but he’s not going to mention that.   
  
But Keith only smirks a little. “And with a little more practice you never will, then. C’mon, let’s head for the training deck.”   
  
The training deck is mercifully unoccupied at this time of the quintent. If Lance is going to make a fool of himself in front of Keith learning how to use a sword, he at least doesn’t want an audience. Lance doesn’t mind being the butt of a lot of jokes when the team needs to de-stress, and he’s always been the class clown, but there’s a difference between being funny on purpose and looking stupid when you’re actually trying hard to get something right.   
  
“Okay,” Keith says. “No Gladiators or training bots for now. The most important thing here is for you to learn some muscle memory for that sword, and to know its strengths and weaknesses.”   
  
“Which are?” Lance stares down at the sword in his right hand.   
  
“That’s a broadsword,” Keith says. “Based on its size, primarily a two hander. But by the way you’re holding it, you can use it in one hand in a pinch, since it doesn’t look too heavy. Which means you’ve got some flexibility in how you use it.”   
  
“I do?” Lance asks.   
  
“Sure,” Keith says. “It means you can vary between power and adaptability as needed.” He steps forward and adjusts Lance’s grip on the bayard so that he’s holding it with two hands, fists slightly apart. “Two hands, like this, means more strength and more speed. People think bigger swords are slower just because they’re bigger, but that’s a mistake. You’re putting the muscle of _both_ arms behind it when you swing like this, which means it’s still going to be fast, but you also have more power to put into the strike. That also makes it useful for blocking, or overwhelming an opponent. In a contest of leverage there’s a strong chance you’ll win, unless the other guy is _way_ bigger or stronger than you.”  
  
“Oh,” Lance says, a little overwhelmed. Swords are a lot more complicated than he’d realized…and he doesn’t think he’s _ever_ seen Keith quite this animated, or heard him talk this much.  
  
“Yeah,” Keith agrees, seemingly oblivious to Lance’s surprise. Clearly, this is a subject that he finds fascinating. He takes a step back, drawing his own Galra knife and extending it into its sword form. Now that they’re side by side, Lance notes Keith’s sword is smaller, and its hilt isn’t big enough for more than one hand at a time. “This is a one-handed sword. If we were at the same skill level for dueling, you might actually have an advantage with that broadsword—your reach is longer and you have more power _and_ speed to put behind the attack. If I’m not using an additional shield or other weapon, I might be in trouble.”   
  
He’s at least nice enough to not say that he’s currently _so_ far above Lance in skill level that he could kill him three times over before Lance could even finish his first swing. “Okay,” Lance agrees. “So, two hands are good, then.”  
  
“Mostly,” Keith agrees. “You’ll want to primarily use it that way. But it has its disadvantages, too. Using two hands means you can’t turn your body away from strikes or use a shield without giving up your attacks.”   
  
He demonstrates himself, by holding his Marmoran blade before him and turning his body sideways, like fencers Lance has seen on TV or in movies. From that angle, most of what Lance might be able to hit is Keith’s sword, and only his shoulder and arm are really exposed to take hits. When Lance tries to mimic, he can’t, not without the two-handed grip on the sword becoming much more difficult to balance.   
  
“Okay,” Lance says. “I think I get that.”  
  
Keith nods. “That’s where some of the flexibility of that sword comes in,” he says. “To maximize on power and speed, you’ll mostly want to use it two-handed. But if you need to protect yourself, or take advantage of a strike, or keep the momentum of an attack going, you can switch it to one hand or the other. The real trick for you will be learning _when_ the best time to do that is.”  
  
That sounds daunting, but Lance he nods anyway. “Okay.”  
  
“One last thing,” Keith says. “Remember this is a sword for cutting, not stabbing. You could use it to poke things in a pinch, but it’s better at cutting.”   
  
“Okay,” Lance says. Then he frowns. “Wait. Your swords were also for cutting, then, right? How come you’d always throw them at people? That’s just like…long-distance poking.”   
  
“Because I don’t have range,” Keith says mildly, “and because I know how. _Don’t_ try to throw that thing as a beginner. You’ll just get somebody killed…probably somebody on _our_ side.”   
  
Lance grumbles. “Does it still count as friendly fire when there’s no firing involved?” he asks. Keith gives him a look, and he takes one hand off of his sword to raise it defensively. “Hey, message received. No throwing the sword. If I need range I’ll concentrate and go back to my rifle, anyway.”  
  
“Good.”   
  
Keith settles into showing him some basic drills for the broadsword, demonstrating a few different kinds of strikes, blocks and parries for him to get used to. “Get your muscles used to these," Keith says, "and it will come naturally to you in a fight later.” Lance feels a bit stupid swinging the sword in the exact same movements over and over, cutting at or blocking imaginary opponents, but he gets the principle enough to keep trying anyway.  
  
The keyword being ‘try,’ because even the drills aren’t really easy. The sword still feels awkward in his hands, heavy and unbalanced and difficult to maneuver. Two hands are supposed to give him more control, but the tip of the sword still wobbles in the wrong direction compared to where he’s trying to strike, and he can’t figure out how to twist the sword right to use its flat to block better. And it’s hard to stay aware of the sword basics when he also has to be aware of the stance of the rest of his body, too—his footwork for movement, or his torso to make sure it’s not an open target, or his whole body to make sure he’s not twisting wrong or doing things less efficiently.  
  
It’s so _much_ to keep track of, and he’s _trying,_ but it’s hard. And Keith doesn’t make things any easier.   
  
“Stop thinking like you’re ranged, Lance,” Keith tells him. “You don’t have time to think about your strikes like you’re lining up a shot. It needs to be _fluid._ Instinctive.”   
  
“It’s not easy when you don’t have instincts,” Lance complains, but he tries harder.  
  
“Use the drills, Lance!” Keith repeats, exasperated. “You’re doing your enemy a favor if you put yourself off balance or slice your own leg off. They’re going to be in your face.”   
  
“I’m trying,” Lance hisses. “They feel _weird!”_   
  
“Stop _flourishing,”_ Keith says, twenty doboshes later, when he’s practicing basic strikes. “You can’t just wave it around like that! This isn’t like the stupid movies! Every cut has a _purpose.”_   
  
_“Argh!”_ Lance finally hits hits his limit, and throws the bayard to the ground in disgust. The sword bounces once and clatters away, shrinking to its base form until it skids to a stop fifteen feet from them. “I can’t! I can’t do this. I’m a _gun_ guy. I shoot things from far away. I can’t do this sword thing! It just doesn’t make _sense!”_  
  
Keith watches the bayard clatter away and slide to a stop, before he turns back to stare at Lance. He doesn’t look angry or even surprised by the outburst, but Lance has a hard time meeting his eyes, and ducks his head in frustration and shame.   
  
That outburst had probably been stupid, but he just…he _can’t._ He doesn’t _get_ this. It’s not clicking. And for Mr. I’m-Amazing-At-Anything-I-Do to witness how bad at this he is is just embarrassing.   
  
He waits for Keith to rub it in and tell him exactly what he’s doing wrong, but to his surprise, when Keith speaks again it’s not with the same lecturing tone from before. “Lance,” he says, with surprising calm, “You wouldn’t have been given a sword if you couldn’t use it. You _can_ do it. You just need to learn how.”   
  
“Yeah, right,” Lance grumbles. He still doesn’t look up at Keith, preferring to glare down at the toes of his boots instead. “You do just fine. You never even had that fancy Marmora knife as a sword before you came here, but you knew how to use it right away.”   
  
“That’s because I _learned,”_ Keith says. “I didn’t just magically know how to use knives and swords. It doesn’t come inherent with Galra blood, you know. Do you know how many times I accidentally cut myself when I was first learning knife fighting?”  
  
Lance blinks in surprise at that, and actually raises his head to stare at Keith. “What?”  
  
Keith rolls his eyes a little. “Yeah. I’ve screwed up in training just as badly. Look.” He rolls up the sleeve of his Blade of Marmora uniform, displaying a thin scar on the back of his left arm, close to his elbow. “Learning to swap dominant hands,” he explains. “Thought I had it, but I sliced myself pretty good while drilling.” He gestures to one in his palm on his left hand, after removing his glove. “Practicing reversing the grip in mid-fight. Grabbed the blade instead. Needed ten stitches.” He shrugs as he replaces his gear. “And there's more where that came from. That’s not getting into all the times I overbalanced, messed up my footing, tripped over the practice blades…there’s a lot of ways you screw up.”  
  
“Oh,” Lance says, dumbfounded. He’s seen Keith pull off incredible feats in combat with all manner of blades. He can’t imagine him doing something as stupid as grabbing the wrong end of the sword, or tripping over it.  
  
“Yeah,” Keith says. “It happens. But you train, and you get better. You learn how to do it right in a safe setting so it doesn’t happen when you need it. You’re doing exactly what you need to. You’ll get it. We just need to find a way that clicks for you.”   
  
He walks over to the discarded red bayard, picks it up, and heads back over to Lance, offering it to him in its base form. It’s familiar, like when Keith first handed it over, the day after Lance took over the Red Lion. “So. Try again?”  
  
Lance hesitates. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s just…it’s not the same as my rifles. The enemy is at a distance there. I can think about where I strike. This is all so up close and personal. Screw up once and you’re dead. I don’t…I don’t think I can do that.”  
  
“I’ve seen you fight in closer quarters with your rifle,” Keith points out. “You’ve shot projectiles out of the air before they hit me or others. You’ve taken down sentries under heavy fire, while the rest of us have to hide behind shields. What makes this different?”  
  
Lance considers. “I…I don’t know,” he admits. “I know what I’m doing there, I guess.”  
  
“So you need practice,” Keith says. “That’s all. If it helps, think back to the mindset you used then for those battles, and apply it here.” He holds out the bayard, more insistently this time.  
  
Lance stares at it for a moment, but then accepts. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll try.” But he can’t help but stare at the blade with a little trepidation when he forms it.  
  
“Don’t think of it as an enemy,” Keith says, catching his expression. “It’s an extension of you. It’s still your bayard and your rifle. Nothing’s changed except how you use it.”   
  
Lance takes a deep breath. “Okay.”  
  
He tries again, attempting the first drill Keith had given him, a basic striking move. The sword still feels clumsy in his hands, but this time he tries what Keith said. He thinks back to that moment in battle when his friends had been in danger, when he hadn’t had time to think about his shots and just _made_ them, when it had all come so fluidly and instinctively and confidently.   
  
Every cut had a purpose, Keith had said. Just like every shot fired had a specific target. You didn’t fire like you were using a machine gun when you were sniping, and you don’t flail around wildly with a sword when each attack has a goal.   
  
And he finds…well, it’s not _easier,_ exactly. The strikes and blocks and parries are still hard when he’s not used to them. He still feels clumsy. But he doesn’t feel quite so stupid. Each drill has a point, just like each shot has a point. This strike will slice a sentry’s head. That block will keep someone from gouging his unprotected side. This parry will turn an opponent’s force into his own, letting him defend and attack all in one. It’s not random flailing anymore.   
  
It’s still his bayard, his rifle. Just in a new form. Just like Keith said.   
  
He’s not quite sure he’s doing it right, still. Maybe it’s silly to be thinking of using a sword like using a gun. But it’s working better than before, at least. It’s still hard, but training is supposed to be, right? It doesn’t feel impossible anymore.  
  
He’s not sure if Keith sees it, either. But Keith doesn’t really lecture him like before, after that. He still interrupts drills to point things out, but it’s bare bones essentials, now. “Watch your elbows” or “turn your wrist at this point” or “careful with that stance” are common, but they’re always matter of fact, never exasperated or frustrated. It’s enough that Lance can keep trying without getting frustrated, himself.  
  
And, as the time passes, other things work their way in there too, that Lance isn’t expecting at first. “Good strike,” Keith acknowledges. “Nice recovery,” he adds, ten doboshes later. And fifteen doboshes after that, with genuine praise in his tone, “That was a great parry!”   
  
“You think?” Lance asks, surprised, lowering the sword. “You’re not just saying that because I was complaining, earlier?”  
  
“It was good,” Keith says, insistently. “Something’s starting to click in your head. That parry was fluid and gained an advantage with no waste of energy. You’re doing fine. I told you that you could do this.”   
  
 Lance stares down at the broadsword bayard in his hands. “Maybe you’re right,” he says. He doesn’t dread it quite as much as he did at the start, at least. And he can’t lie that the little warm feeling of pride in his chest at the praise feels good.   
  
“Good. Now let’s try some sparring,” Keith says, drawing his own knife again and once more extending it to a sword.  
  
Lance’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? Now? I can barely do drills, I don’t stand a chance!”  
  
Keith shakes his head. “Relax, Lance. I’m not going to go all out. Fighting air will only teach you so much, though. You need to at least get used to what it’s like to have an opponent so you know what to look for.”  
  
Lance grumbles. “I could learn against the Gladiator after I’ve had more chance to practice.”  
  
“The Gladiator isn’t going to tell you what you’re doing wrong and how to fix it—or what you’re doing right that you should keep doing,” Keith says. “Nobody’s going to get hurt.”  
  
Lance sighs. “Fine.”  
  
But it turns out Keith’s not wrong. He does pull his punches—strikes?—a lot, and he’s going very slow on purpose. Lance can see that much even as a novice. He’s seen Keith move lightning fast to take down opponents, but he’s moving slowly and more obviously on purpose, so Lance can learn.  
  
And boy, is there a lot to learn. It’s one thing to practice drills. It’s another to apply them. He chooses the wrong one more than once, and the ‘match’ inevitably ends with Keith lightly tapping his side or arm or leg with the flat of his Marmora sword and announcing, “Dead,” or “disabled.”   
  
But he always offers advice when it happens. “You leave yourself open on the left more—use the third form to protect yourself,” or “here would have been a good time to switch to one hand to block me,” or “press your advantage, you have more power than me in this case!”   
  
And like before, he offers acknowledgement when Lance manages to do something right. “Nice block there,” and “good use of footing” and “smart feint,” are just as common as the criticisms, and while it’s difficult, Lance lives for those moments in the fight. Nothing about the matches feels natural, still, but at least he feels like he’s getting there.   
  
His crowning moment of glory comes when Keith strikes, and Lance just… _acts._ Maybe it’s because he’s tired from all the training, maybe it’s because he’s getting more into the zone, but whatever it is, for the first time he doesn’t have to think about using a specific form to defend. He just _does_ it, just like he does when a weapon is thrown at one of his friends and he blasts it out of the air. Keith’s sword comes for his side and he throws his own bayard into the block stance Keith had taught him, and twists it sharply to turn it into a parry. The flat of the blade hits hard on the inside of Keith’s arm, and the Marmora sword goes flying from his hands, clattering on the ground and spinning as it shrinks to its knife form.  
  
Lance is so startled he forgets to follow through on the parry to turn it into a strike of his own, but it doesn’t matter, because Keith stops, too. Both of them stare at the discarded knife for a moment, panting heavily, and then Keith finally says, “That was perfect. You’re really starting to get it.”  
  
Lance stares. “What? Do, you—did you drop that for me? You threw it, right? I don’t need pity, I can—“  
  
“Lance,” Keith interrupts, with a trace of exasperation, “I didn’t drop it. You actually disarmed me. Take the win, okay?”  
  
Lance’s jaw actually drops. It doesn’t even matter that if this had been a real match, he wouldn’t have come close to pulling that move off. It doesn’t matter that he’d frozen afterwards, and Keith—who is no slouch at martial arts, either—could easily have knocked him on his ass and disarmed him. It doesn’t matter that Keith was going slower on purpose for training.   
  
He’d _done_ it. He’d actually _done_ it, and for the first time using his bayard had felt totally instinctive, totally natural, just like Keith said it was supposed to.   
  
“I did it,” he says out loud, voice full of bewildered pride. “I really did it.”  
  
“You did,” Keith agrees. “Good job. I told you that you could.”  
  
“I really _did_ it,” Lance repeats, staring down at the sword. “Like…I didn’t even have to think. It was just like shooting. Only it was cutting, so I guess it wasn’t just like shooting, but…I _did_ it.”   
  
Keith snorts, but he doesn’t sound annoyed, and he has a rare smile on his face as he goes to retrieve his knife. “I think that was a breakthrough,” he says. “But you look beat, and I’m gonna have to leave soon. Let’s take a break.”   
  
Lance can’t argue with that. He’s exhausted, still panting hard, and he’d kill for a drink. Fortunately, there’s always water packs on hand in the training deck, and soon they each have one as they sit down against the wall and take a breather.   
  
“How do I keep getting stronger after you leave?” Lance asks, once he’s gone through half his water pack. “I’m not gonna spar against _Lotor._ And Allura’s still busy. And there’s so much to keep track of…I don’t know how you do it all.”   
  
“You’ll get there,” Keith says. “Simple and basic is the best way to go until you’ve mastered those moves. Just keep practicing the drills I showed you every day and they should cover most scenarios you’ll run into. The hardest part is committing it all to muscle memory—that’s important, so it’ll be second nature when you need it. Like when you disarmed me at the end there.”   
  
Lance can’t help but grin at that. “That was _great_. Wait until I tell everyone I beat you in a sword match.”  
  
“They’d never believe you,” Keith says. He sounds vaguely amused.   
  
“Don’t rain on my parade!”   
  
Keith makes a noncommittal noise. “Seriously, though. Practice every day. Don’t try the Gladiator until you’re confident in all of those drills and they feel natural. Do that, and you’ll have mastered the red bayard in no time.”  
  
“Yeah.” Lance stares down at the bayard in his hands, now back to its base form. There’s so many secrets, with these weapons. So many things to unlock. He’s not sure he’ll ever _really_ master it, with all the physical changes it can make, and the strange spiritual qualities it has, too. With the way it bolsters Voltron, and has some kind of strange magic, and it’s the key to a weird other mind-space world…  
  
“Lance? Something wrong?”  
  
Lance blinks. The satisfied grin from his hard-earned victory is gone, and he realizes he’s frowning at the bayard. Keith is staring at him, brows furrowed in confusion.   
  
“I think something’s wrong with Shiro,” he blurts out, before he can stop himself.   
  
He’s not surprised when that gains Keith’s full attention. “What do you mean?”  
  
“It’s…” Lance bites his lip for a moment. “Did you hear about what happened on Olkarion?”  
  
“Some,” Keith says. “I know the Galra attacked again, and I know Voltron repelled them. That’s it.”  
  
“That’s true, but…well, a lot more happened _in_ Voltron.” Lance stares at his bayard as he explains how the team had used them to bolster Voltron enough to escape the strange virus plants. How the bayards and Voltron had take them to a strange shared mindscape. How Shiro had taken too long to reach it, and how he’d struggled to warn Lance about something after.  
  
“But when I asked him about it, he didn’t know what I was talking about,” Lance finishes. “And when we took Allura to Oriande, he asked me about it. Said he didn’t remember any of it.”   
  
He swallows. He’s not entirely sure he should be divulging that conversation to Keith—Shiro had asked in private—but he doesn’t really know what else to make of it, and it’s _Keith._ If anyone is going to know what any of this means, especially to Shiro, if anyone knows what to do about it, it’s going to be Keith.   
  
So he only hesitates for a moment more before adding softly, “He…he said he didn’t feel like himself. He said he felt really confused. He _looked_ it. He was really shook up.” He finally looks up from his bayard. “Keith…I’ve never _seen_ Shiro like that before. Shiro’s always… _Shiro_. He’s always confident. He always has an answer. But he looked _scared_. And the things he was saying…”   
  
He swallows. “I don’t know. I don’t know him as well as you do. I mean, I used to hero-worship Shiro before we found the Blue Lion, but I’ve never really known him until this, and he’s always been…” He trails off, shrugging uncomfortably.   
  
“A leader,” Keith finishes for him. “Strong and in control. Whatever anyone else needed. Right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Lance says.   
  
Keith sighs. “He does that. I’ve…seen him off his game before. He doesn’t force himself to look like a perfect leader around me as much as the rest of you. He’s not perfect, either.”  
  
“But the things he said…about not feeling like himself. Has he ever said _that_ to you?”  
  
Keith’s lips press together in a thin line for a moment, before he finally says, “No. Never.”   
  
“He’s been weird, too,” Lance adds. “In other ways. He uh…he yelled at us a few times, when we disagreed with him. We didn’t want to take Lotor to the Kral-whatever thing, too risky, and he got mad at us for it. Or a few other things. And I mean…he’s yelled at us before, y’know, I say stupid stuff all the time and he tells me off for it, but this felt…this felt different.” He shrugs. “But maybe he’s just having a bad day. Or…days. Y’know? I don’t know him as well as you.”  
  
“He doesn’t yell at people for no reason,” Keith says. “Maybe he thought this was the best course of action and got frustrated when no one else would listen.”  
  
“Yes, but he wasn’t really…listening to us, either,” Lance says slowly. “We all had good reasons to disagree with him. He’s usually been pretty good about taking feedback into consideration, right? I don’t know. That was frustrating, but we’ve been dealing with it okay. Everyone’s been stressed. But when he told me he didn’t feel like himself, _that_ was just scary.”  
  
“What did you do?” Keith asks. “When he came to you.”  
  
“Panicked,” Lance admits. “Shiro doesn’t come to me for anything. Usually he’s telling me to behave myself. Why would he confide anything in me? I mean, I guess he kind of had to, I was the only other person left in that weird Voltron mindscape, but still. I didn’t really know what to do. I just said maybe he felt bad because of the oxygen levels since the Castle had shut down, and suggested he sit down and take it easy, and said we’d get through this.”  
  
“Did he?”  
  
“Take it easy? I mean, yes, but I don’t think it was the oxygen levels that were the problem.”   
  
Keith shakes his head. “Doesn’t sound like it, but what’s more important is that he _did_ listen. He took off the leader mask for a little bit and let you make a call instead. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do that for somebody else.”  
  
Lance blinks at that, and stares down at his base-form bayard. It created a sword. Allura had said it was because there was greatness in him, and at the time he’d complained. _I don’t think Shiro has noticed._   
  
Maybe Shiro had. Maybe it just hadn’t come in the form Lance had ever expected.  
  
Still, if that’s the responsibility that comes with greatness, Lance can’t help but find it daunting. “What do I _do?”_ he asks Keith, very softly. “I’m…I’m not you. And this is _Shiro._ I know how I’d cheer up Hunk or Pidge or my family back home, but this is…this is way out of my league. It felt weird just trying to reassure him we’d get through it. That’s what Shiro does for us, not the other way around. I don’t know how to help him. And something’s wrong. Right? I’m not imagining this?”  
  
“I don’t think you are,” Keith says. “I think your instincts are right.”   
  
“So what do I do?”  
  
“Watch out for him,” Keith says. “Keep an eye on him. He won’t always ask for help. But he might still need it.”  
  
That sounds both too simple and too hard all at the same time. “You’d be better at this than me,” Lance admits. “You know what to look for. You know him better than I do.” He hesitates. “I could give you the Red Lion back. Your bayard.” He gestures with the base form of the weapon.   
  
It would hurt to do that, to step out of the fight completely. He’d already been scared of that happening when Shiro first came back. But this feels different. If Shiro needs help, and Keith’s better equipped to do that, Lance will back down and give him the Lion and the bayard if that’s what it takes. It’s…fitting, in a way. Allura had said that was why the Red Lion had accepted him in the first place—because he was willing to step back and admit somebody else was better suited for the job when it was important.  
  
But Keith shakes his head. He looks exhausted, suddenly…more than just from the training, but somewhere inside, too. “I can’t,” he says quietly. “It’s…I don’t know. He wasn’t really listening to me when I left, either. That’s why I think you’re not wrong. But he came to you for help, and he listened to your advice. That’s a start. Maybe you can break through where I couldn’t.” He hesitates, before glancing over at Lance. “Look out for him for me?”  
  
There’s a lot of things Lance wants to say to that. ‘But you _could_ come back and try again’ or ‘the Blade can’t be more important than us, can it?’ or ‘I can’t be nearly as good at this as you.’ But Keith’s glance contains a hint of pleading, a hint of helplessness, and all those thoughts are dashed.   
  
Keith _wants_ to help. But in his current position, he can’t.   
  
So all Lance says is, “You got it. Always.”   
  
Keith smiles, and there’s actually a little bit of relief in his expression. “Thanks. Red picked really well with you, Lance.”  
  
 “Yeah, well. She misses you. But we get along okay, I guess.”  
  
“I’ve seen some of the recordings. You fly well together.”   
  
Keith is an ace pilot. Always has been. Lance has been envious of his flying abilities since the day he joined the garrison and first saw Keith’s scores. The fact that Keith’s complimenting his own flight skills now sends an unexpected burst of warmth and pride through him. “Thanks.”   
  
Keith offers him another rare smile, and then pushes himself to his feet. “Okay. I _really_ have to leave now, or Kolivan’s going to give me one hell of a lecture. But I’ve got one more useful tip, before I go.”   
  
“Oh?” Lance climbs to his feet as well.  
  
Keith nods. “People will try to disarm you a lot when you use a blade. But you can get around that, with a bayard. Summon it and I’ll show you.”   
  
Lance obliges, shifting the red bayard to its broadsword form again. Keith, with far too much efficiency, immediately puts him into a grapple, pinning Lance’s right arm—and the bayard still in his hand—in such a way that it’s effectively locked. “Hey! What gives?”  
  
“Can’t use it, right?” Keith asks.   
  
Lance pulls experimentally at his arm. Keith’s not putting enough pressure on it to hurt, but he still can’t get enough leverage for a swing. “No.”  
  
“Yeah. One of Lotor’s generals likes to pull this a lot, but others will try to lock or disarm you, too. They’ll think they’ve got you, then. Or they’ll be holding you for somebody else to kill. But you’re not helpless. Summon your bayard to your other hand.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Summon it to your other hand. Just…imagine yourself fighting with the opposite hand, and holding it.”  
  
“I’m not left handed!” Lance sputters. He’d tried swinging it around in his left hand when he’d first got the sword, but it had felt just as awkward in his left as his right.  
  
“Doesn’t matter. It’ll be enough to startle them, and give you another attack, or a way to defend. Try it.”  
  
Lance sighs in exasperation, but squeezes his eyes shut, and tries concentrating. He can feel the bayard in his right hand, pinned securely by Keith, but he imagines the hilt in his left hand instead. To his surprise, he feels the bayard start to collapse in his right hand, as if he were storing it back into its holster. He snaps his eyes open just in time to see the flash of red light dart across his chest to materialize in his left hand.   
  
He makes an awkward swipe with it at Keith, who dodges it easily, but smirks. “See? Get used to holding it in your offhand, and practicing drills with it, too. You don’t have to master it or make yourself ambidextrous, but if you can at least control it, it’ll save your life. It’s saved mine.”   
  
“Neat.” Lance stares at the sword in his left hand, and concentrates on transferring it again. The sword shimmers into red light as it darts across his vision to the right again, and he makes a quick defensive swipe with it as it finishes reforming. “Yeah, that…that could be useful.”   
  
“Right.” Keith sobers. “Okay, I need to leave. But…look out for Shiro for me. Keep me posted if something else weird happens, or if you’re just not sure what to do. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll try.”   
  
“Right. You got it.” He won’t let Keith down there. If he’s really stuck he’ll ask, but…well, Keith had said things were different. Maybe Shiro needs Lance’s way of handling things right now more than Keith’s. He’s not sure if he can make a difference, but he’s damn well going to try.   
  
“Thanks.” Keith starts to head for the door of the training deck.  
  
“Oh…and Keith?” Lance calls after him. Keith turns to look over his shoulder, and Lance points at him with his Altean broadsword, blade outstretched in a fancy-looking pose. “Next time you come back, I’m challenging you to another sword duel, and that time it’s _really_ on. None of this practice stuff.”  
  
Keith smirks at him. “Sure. I could use a warm-up before I tackle the Gladiator.”  
  
 _“Hey!”_   
  
Keith’s already out the door, but he’s still grinning as he leaves. Lance feigns indignation until he’s gone, but he can’t help but grin, himself. Keith probably will mop the floor with him in that duel, but Lance will be stronger by then, and maybe he can at least prove he’ll be a challenge one day.  
  
And he’s got a little more in common with Keith now, too. Not just their Lion, or their bayard. They’re both doing what they can to look out for Shiro, too. There’s a solidarity there, in being the right arm of Voltron, in doing what they can to support the others but especially the leader.   
  
Lance stares down at his Altean broadsword. _Greatness within._ Well, maybe he’ll handle it differently than King Alfor, or Keith. He has his own way of doing things. But he’ll live up to those expectations all the same, and show everyone what he’s capable of.   
  
He’s going to master the red bayard, and everything it stands for.


End file.
